


Speak the Speech

by garbagewaif



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, percy jackson - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Jiper, PJO, percabeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbagewaif/pseuds/garbagewaif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A PJO Shakespeare Conservatory AU by moi (garbage-waif.tumblr.com)</p><p>“Welcome to Archetype Lab.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Archetypes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first pjo fanfic, and my first time seriously writing in a while. this is horribly unedited, but i wanna post it for my own sanity: just throw it out into the void and see what the void throws back. Let me know what you think! :)

“Welcome to Archetype Lab.”

Chiron, a middle-aged professor with a grizzled beard and chestnut hair, stood at the front of the studio in track pants, a hoodie, and bare feet. His back was turned as he sloppily wrote the word “Archetype” on the whiteboard behind him.  Annabeth sat with the other junior performance majors in a semi circle that faced the board.  She readjusted her weight on her olive green zafu, crossing her legs instead of sitting on her heels.  They were all seated on the floor, on the patchwork quilt of blue vinyl mats they’d set up before class started.  Some used two or more zafus instead of one, but no one was allowed to sit without one. To get their hips higher than their knees, something about correct alignment helping focus.  And it  _was_  true; Annabeth’s ADHD always calmed down whenever she was in the gray-and-blue Acting Studio, sitting on the mats with her zen version of a beanbag pillow.  She was wearing black athletic leggings and a bright orange, old high school drama club t-shirt.  She was barefoot, too, along with everyone else in the class.  Chiron did not allow shoes or even socks in the Studio.  They needed traction on the mats for when they started doing movement work, besides it being one thousand percent easier to ground yourself when you don’t have shoes blocking the way to the earth.

“An archetype is a fixed character trope used to tell a story.  For example, the Young Lovers that frequently appear in Shakespeare’s comedies.  As well as the Harlequin or Knowing Servant, the Pantaloon, or Bumbling Father, la Ruffiana, or Fish Wife…,” and so he went on, listing all the archetypes of the Italian Commedia dell’arte.  Annabeth scribbled down notes on the composition notebook open on the mat in front of her.  Percy, who was sitting on three zafus next to her, used his notebook to doodle pictures of mermaids luring sailors to their deaths.  Annabeth leaned over to write a small, “Pay attention,” in the corner of his page.  He grinned, and scribbled an all-caps, “NEVER” underneath her reprimand.  Then he drew a heart around the two notes and Annabeth pretended to gag.

“Ms. Chase and Mr. Jackson are giving us a lovely example of the Inamoratos,” Chiron’s low bass resonated all the way through her chest, and Annabeth practically leaped into sitting up straight.  Her cheeks flared red as she met Chiron’s twinkling gaze.  “Can either of you tell the class what that means?” He asked them, crossing his arms.   _Defensive stance: closed off and unwelcominng,_ Annabeth noted,  _Not fair._ They’d all learned how to use body language to their advantage last semester in Introduction to Voice and Movement.  She gulped.

“The Young Lovers,” she said, voice meek and small in the large space.  Titters broke out around the room.  Annabeth looked down, face flaming even hotter than before, if that was possible.  Yeah, she’d been dating Percy for the past six years, but she didn’t like making a _show_ of it.

“Thank you, Ms. Chase,” Chiron said, and turned back to the board.  Annabeth stayed looking down at the textured blue vinyl under her feet until she felt Percy nudge her arm.  She looked over, and saw that Percy had drawn Chiron as a centaur, arms folded and stony expression on his bearded face.  Annabeth smiled.  She looked up in time to see Percy wink.

Chiron went on with the lecture, and Annabeth regained her composure enough to catch up with the notes.  Forty minutes before the class was supposed to be over, Chiron grabbed a zazu from the supply cabinet and plopped down at the head of the circle.  He was a warm professor, really; Annabeth had had him for Intro last year, and she loved him.  He knew his material, and he knew how to teach.  Annabeth respected that.

“Now, I know you’ve all played Hot Seat before,” he said, and there were a chorus of agreements from around the circle.  “But we’re gonna do it again today, just so you have the ideas fresh in your mind for your assignment.”  Everyone nodded, and turned to a blank page in their notebooks.  Chiron motioned for everyone to scoot the circle in closer.  “Just as a recap,” he said, “We’re going around the room to each student, and we’re going to say what archetypes they remind us of, both in terms of looks and energy.  Give them character names or playwrights for them to look up later.  This is a way for you all to open up the door to finding audition material that works for you.”

Piper was first.

On the exact other side of the circle from Annabeth and Percy, Piper sat cross-legged on her dark purple zafu. She had choppy brown hair, dark skin, and bright, intelligent eyes.  She was beautiful.  Annabeth mentioned “princess” as one of her character types, no problem.  She also got “rebel,” “seductress,” “innocent school girl” (which made her laugh), and “would make an amazing Rosalind” from Chiron.

They went around the circle like that, spending about five to ten minutes on each student.  After Piper, there was Reyna (“Lady Macbeth!” everyone had shouted in unison), Austin (“leading man,” Mercutio”), Jason (“soldier,” “prince,” “Captain America,” Sirena had said, giggling, which Chiron sighed but allowed), Travis and Connor Stoll (“Fools/court jester,” “Benedick or Claudio depending on if they were willing to dye their hair blonde”), Clarisse (“Katharina from Taming of the Shrew,” which surprised no one, and “fishwife”), Chris (“Petruchio,” everyone had agreed, which made the long term couple look at each other and grin), Sirena (“princess,” “head bitch,” someone called out, to a receiving chorus of “Yas queen!”s, and “Jessica from Merchant of Venice”), Octavian (“Don John from Much Ado,” “Tybalt from R&J,” and basically all the slimy bad guys, which left Annabeth feeling kind of sorry for him, but his pretentious smirk seemed to say he didn’t mind), and finally Percy and her.

Percy was before her, and he got pretty much the same diagnosis as Jason: “leading man,” “prince,” “lover,” “Romeo,” (which made Annabeth smile – that had been their first show together), “Macbeth, when you’re older,” someone said, and “ancient Greek theatre,” which made Percy snort.  He hated Greek drama.

And finally, it was her turn.  Why had she sat at the very end of the circle?!  This was awful; everyone else had gotten such awesome parts, she was terrified what people would think when they looked at her.  Sure, she’d done this before, but it was still nerve wracking.  

“Princess,” was the first word, and her head whipped to the side to see Percy smiling at her.  She nodded, blushing, and wrote it down in her notebook.  People started slow, and then gained speed as ideas came to them; she had to give Percy her notebook because she couldn’t keep up.  They said “Desdemona from Othello,” “Rosalind again,” “Portia from Merchant,” “Beatrice from Much Ado,” “Katharina from Taming again” (she blushed at that one – she was getting a bunch of strong characters, and it was too flattering, too kind for her to process it all at once), “Imogen from Cymbeline,” “Cressida from Troilus and Cressida,” “Julia from Two Gentlemen of Verona,” “Cleopatra when she was older,” and, “Juliet while you’re still young.”  She was grinning by now, gorged on the news that people saw her in all the awesome roles in Shakespeare, and took her notebook back from Percy as the suggestions died down.  There was a slight pause, since she was the last one, and she turned to Chiron, expecting the class dismissal.  He was staring at her, eyebrows drawn together.  She paused, unable to read his expression.  Nerves started gnawing at her abdomen.  Finally, although it was only a moment, it had felt like hours, Chiron said what he had been thinking:

“Ophelia.”

There was a low, “ooh…” throughout the class, as if they’d all been watching a fireworks show.  Apparently, they approved.  Annabeth blushed profusely, and nodded her thanks.  Did Chiron know?  Ophelia had been her dream role since she was twelve years old.  Hamlet had been the first show she’d ever seen live, and she’d fallen in love with both the play and the stage immediately.  That was the night she decided she was going to become an actress.  Ophelia was special to her, and it made her heart light up to hear her actually acting professor thought she could do the role.  

She couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of class.

Which was, admittedly, not much.  Just a quick homework assignment (find two NEW monologues: one that fits your type, one that’s the exact opposite of your type, with the instruction to “Perform them for each other, people. Don’t bring them in cold,” as parting words from Chiron).

She and Percy stood up together, holding their zafus in line in front of the cabinet.  He knocked his shoulder into hers, and she looked up to see him grinning down at her.  “Not bad for the first day of class, right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Except for you almost getting us kicked out, yeah.”

“Oh, come on,” he complained, taking her zafu out of her hands to put away for her, “Chiron loves you, he was just teasing.”

“What about you?” 

“Everyone loves me,” he replied, and picked up her backpack to hand her before she could even get to it.  He pecked a quick kiss to her forehead as they walked out the door. “Happy first day of Junior year!”

“Happy first day,” she repeated, and slid her hand into his.


	2. Hamlette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth was going to kill her.
> 
> It had been two weeks, already, and Rachel was still not spilling about next season. Auditions were coming up fast: four weeks and two days, to be exact. And Annabeth had no idea which monologues to pick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has also been through minimal (0) editing, but into the void it goes. (This is a lot of what actually happens in a collegiate acting program tbh lmao pray for me). But yeah here we go! Let me know what you think!

Percy and Annabeth walked out together, their first class of the semester already over.  They had Archetype Lab Monday and Wednesday mornings, and Acting 4 together on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Other than that, though, they didn’t share any classes.  Annabeth was done for the day, too.   **  
**

“Do you have work today?” She asked as they walked through the navy-blue-carpeted hallway.  They passed posters of old seasons, framed in polished wood that stood out against the white paint of the walls.

Percy nodded: “I’ve got about an hour.”  They passed the box office, stationed behind a glass wall in the front lobby of the theatre.  Annabeth’s sandals slapped the beige tile as they crossed the lobby toward the row of glass doors of the theatre’s entrance.  Percy pushed on the steel bar to open the door for her, lifting his snapback to her in a faux-chivalrous salute as she passed through.  

She snorted, and lifted up her hand to snatch the hat from him before he could put it back on.  She shoved it onto her own head, and broke into a run.  “Hey!” he called after her, and she laughed.  She turned around, running backward over the gray asphalt parking lot.  Percy was jogging after her, wind blowing his dark hair back from his forehead.  He was wearing blue cargo shorts, and his old high school hoodie left open over a Led Zeppelin t-shirt.  He was also wearing brown leather sandals, one of which flew off almost immediately after he started chasing her.  He let out a loud curse – a colorful string of expletives that centered around the word, “Traitor!”  Annabeth laughed, and slowed her pace as she waited for him to pick it up.

By the time he reached her, they were past the parking lot and walking down West Main Street, on their way to their apartment.  When Percy finally caught up to her at the crosswalk, a grin spread across his stupid, handsome face, she didn’t even have time to say the taunt she was thinking of before Percy had his hands on her cheeks, thumbs under her jaw so he could tilt her face up to kiss her.  While she was thus distracted, she felt him lift the snapback off her head.

“Cheater,” she said breathlessly, when they parted.

Percy shrugged, fitting his hat back over his hair.  He put it on backwards, pushing his bangs back so the plastic turquoise band lay across his forehead.  He opened his mouth to respond, but a girl’s voice cut him off before he could.

“Hey, love birds!  Leave room for Jesus!”

Annabeth and Percy whipped around to face the road together, both gaping at the owner of the voice.  And then Annabeth smiled, because it was their best friend and roommate, Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

Rachel pulled over onto the shoulder, and leaned over to unlock the passenger door.  She drove a bright red convertible, with a cream-colored leather interior and a black vinyl top, that was almost always down.  The car (which she’d named Apollo, for reasons Annabeth did not know) was sleek and designer and vintage and always spotlessly clean.  Annabeth had no idea what kind of a car it was, but whatever it was, it was gorgeous.  “Need a lift?”  Rachel asked, grinning beneath her heart-shaped sunglasses.  Her bright red, curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail so that, Annabeth guessed, it wouldn’t get ruined by the wind while she drove.  She wore a loose white tank top over denim shorts that were (like always) covered in scribbled-on ink drawings.

“Yes, please,” Annabeth said, and jumped into the passenger seat.  Percy grumbled something about always sitting in the back, but got in the car after her.

Rachel pulled back out onto the road, and Annabeth put her own hair up to keep it from tangling in the wind.  Rachel cranked the radio up, and took a deep breath.  Annabeth froze; usually Rachel only took deep breaths before she was about to announce important, usually bad, news.

“So I have some goods news, and bad news.”

Annabeth knew it.

“Good news first,” Percy leaned over the back of the car’s bench seat, crossing his arms to rest his chin on.  Rachel put her blinker on, and turned down a side street into the student ghetto.  

“Good news is,” she started, and then interrupted herself, “Annabeth, you can’t freak out, okay?”

Annabeth felt her eyebrows draw together.  “Okay?”

“Okay.”  Rachel took another deep breath, puffing out her chest before she exhaled.  “The good news is that I know what next season’s shows are gonna be.”

_“What?!”_

Annabeth couldn’t help it; she screamed.  Then she whirled around in her seat to whack Rachel on the arm.  “Why was that not the first thing you said to us?!”

“Because!” Rachel protested, “The bad news is that I can’t tell you what they are!”

Annabeth sat, stunned.

And then she opened her mouth to scream again, but Rachel interrupted her with a rushed, stage-manager voiced, “You promised not to freak out!”

Annabeth’s mouth clicked shut.

She turned back around in her seat, and slumped against the headrest.  Percy patted her shoulder.   _He_ was never bothered about not knowing these kinds of things (he was a natural improviser, onstage and in life), but Annabeth was a planner.  It made her anxious to not know when things were happening.  Especially with something as important as this.  What shows they were doing dictated what monologues she would audition with, and she liked being as overly prepared as she physically could for auditions.  Preparation was the best way to beat stage fright, and she wanted to know that she was giving her best performance by the time it came down to doing it in the actual room.  

“But I _can_ tell you that you’re gonna love this season.”

“Me especially, or me as in an actor who loves Shakespeare?”  Annabeth asked with her eyes closed, still in her slumped position.

“You especially.”

Her eyes snapped open.  She sat up in her seat.  Slowly, she turned to Rachel.  “What are you saying?” she asked, enunciating each syllable.  But Rachel was carefully not looking at her as they turned into their driveway.

“That’s all I can say, Annabee,” she said, and turned off the engine.  Annabeth watched her bite her lip, and then take another breath.  “But there’s gonna be something that _you_ will really love.”  Rachel looked at her pointedly over the tops of her sunglasses.  Realization started to creep into Annabeth’s stomach, slowly forming into hundreds, no, thousands of fluttering butterflies.  She swallowed.

“You mean–,”

“That’s all I can say!” Rachel shouted again, raising her hands.  She unlocked the car and hopped onto their gravel driveway, waiting for Annabeth and Percy to do the same.  She grinned over her shoulder at them.  “But _you_ are really gonna love it.”

She unlocked their front door and disappeared inside.

***

Annabeth was going to kill her.

It had been two weeks, already, and Rachel was still not spilling about next season.  Auditions were coming up fast: four weeks and two days, to be exact.  And Annabeth had no idea which monologues to pick.  

She looked up, next to her vanity’s mirror, at the framed poster she’d had in her room since she was twelve.  It was the painting of Ophelia, the famous one by John Everett Millais.  They’d had it in the gift shop at Stratford, where she’d first seen _Hamlet_ , and she had begged her dad to buy it for her after the show.  Kind of a disturbing thing for a twelve year old to want, but eventually he’d caved.  He’d gotten it framed within the week, and it’d been hanging on Annabeth’s bedroom wall ever since.  She’d taken it to college with her, and it’d hung on a new wall there, first in the dorms, and now here.  It was curtained under a white and silver tapestry Annabeth had pinned into a canopy above her little vanity alcove.  Her and Percy shared the attic room, so the ceiling sloped and slanted with the roof.  Both the poster and her mirror were framed by silver fairy lights, pinned up underneath the canopy fabric.  Annabeth looked over the image, at the bright colors and intricate detail.  

Well, she had _some_ idea.

Rachel had been dropping hints about it for the past two weeks.  As a stage management major, and basically Mr. Papadopoulos (the head of stage management)’s personal assistant, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone what the shows were until they were officially announced.  But Rachel was a rule bender, apparently, because she was anything but subtle about it.  Annabeth had come down the steps into the kitchen one morning to find her standing over the stove, flipping eggs.

“It’s a ham omelette,” she’d said as she slid a plate over the counter to Annabeth.  “A hamlette.”  Annabeth had glared at her, heart pounding in her chest.  Rachel had kept her face neutral as she held up a box of newly-bought pastries.  “Danish?”

“Subtle,” Annabeth had muttered, before snagging one and ripping her teeth into the sugary dough.  

But for all of Rachel’s hints, Annabeth couldn’t let herself get used to the idea.  Before things were officially announced, there was always a chance that they could change.  But this waiting was _killing_ her; she just wanted to be sure of the season – really, truly _sure –_ and not have to guess at hints and (possibly vainly) get her hopes up.  She wouldn’t accept it until she heard it herself straight from the director’s mouth.

Now, Annabeth was standing in front of her mirror, fidgeting in a knee-length dress.  The material was a soft cotton, and dyed a flattering light blue that complemented her eyes nicely.  The halter top was tied into a bow at the back of her neck, and then swept down into a sweetheart neckline that framed the sapphire pendant resting on her sternum.  She looked beautiful, she had to admit, but it was still…a dress.  Her only comfort was the pair of spandex shorts she wore underneath the skirt, in case she happened to walk over any subway vents.  

They were practising auditions today in Archetype Lab, and Chiron had wanted them to act like it was the real thing.  Hair, makeup, outfit, the works.  They were all going to watch each other though, which wasn’t how it’d really be, but that was so they could have a class discussion afterward.  Annabeth had performed in front of her peers before (hell, she’d been performing in front of people her whole life), but a nervous hum still buzzed in her stomach as she stared  at her reflection.

“You look beautiful,” Percy called from the closet, on the other side of their bedroom.  He was rolling up the sleeves to his pinstriped button down, the sea green one that matched his eyes perfectly.  He wore charcoal gray slacks, and scuffed up black leather dress shoes.  Annabeth felt her face flush.  As uncomfortable as she may have been in her own audition outfit, she couldn’t deny that Percy looked great in his.  Which was, of course, the point.

She turned back to her mirror.  “I know,” she sighed.  She tried pulling her hair back, but let her curls go almost immediately.  “What should I do with my hair?”

“Whatever you do, you’ll look gorgeous.”

She huffed, “That is _not_ what I asked,” but she felt her cheeks warm anyway.  Percy finished rolling his sleeves as he strolled over to join her at the vanity.  He looked over her head at his own reflection, and ran a hand through his hair.

“What pieces are you doing?”  She’d been flip-flopping back and forth ever since they’d gotten the assignment, unable to choose.  “That’s probably the most deciding factor, out of anything.”

“The Nurse,” she said, slowly.  From _Romeo and Juliet:_ that was her out-of-type monologue.  

“And?”

“And…,” she bit her lip.  She hadn’t decided, to be completely honest.  She’d been practising Ophelia, for sure, but she hadn’t decided which piece of hers to use.  The safest route would be to do Act III Scene i: “O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown…,” but Annabeth didn’t feel right about it.  She did it perfectly well, it was the piece she’d made Percy, Rachel, and Grover (Percy’s childhood best friend and their fourth roommate) watch and give her critiques on.  The other option, the unsafe option, was Act IV Scene v.  The one where Ophelia reenters, insane.  

“I haven’t decided yet,” she admitted, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re kinda running out of time.”

Annabeth groaned into her palms.  “Maybe I can just wear a paper bag.”

Percy laughed, and wrapped his arms around her waist.  She let her head fall back on his shoulder, and took a deep breath.  “You’ll do great,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the base of her neck.  

“I know,” she said again, frustrated at the nerves in her belly, “Why am I so nervous?”

Percy pecked another kiss to her temple before letting go.  “Free adrenaline,” he offered, “Use it.”  She rolled her eyes, and then checked her phone for the time.  She sighed.  11:30.  She was out of time.

“Ready?”  Percy slung his backpack over his shoulder, and held her own messenger bag out to her.  Annabeth took it, and checked her reflection one more time.  She considered for a split second, and then dug out a pencil from her bag’s front pocket.  She twisted her hair back and up at the top of her head, securing it with the pencil.  Her eyes looked wide and striking in the middle of her face.  She nodded once.

“Let’s go.”

***

“Thank you, Reyna,” Chiron said, “That was wonderful.”

The class all snapped and shouted out their agreements.  Reyna had just finished an absolute _killer_ rendition of Lady Macbeth’s “Unsex me here,” speech; Annabeth still had chills.  Reyna’s other monologue had been a meek, self-conscious Miranda from _The Tempest_ , asking Ferdinand if he loved her.  It was good, but seeing tall, powerful Reyna shyly ask a boy for his approval was downright comical.

“Who’s next?”  Chiron turned around in his seat to scan the rows of students, seated in plastic folding chairs at the back of the studio.  A nervous silence fell over everyone.  Chiron sighed.  “Don’t make me pick for you.”

“I’ll go!”  Percy jumped up from his seat, and walked to the front of the space.  He faced the group, giving a crooked smile – the one that never failed to make butterflies fill Annabeth’s stomach.  He started his slate, “Hi, my name is Percy Jackson, and I’ll be doing _Richard III_ and _Hamlet_.”  A low hum rippled through the group.  Hamlet is so iconic, it’s hard to do for an audition piece.  The auditors will be thinking of their own favorite Hamlet, and will unconsciously compare you to them.  Which you do _not_ want.  But Percy stood perfectly confident at the front of the room, waiting for Chiron to give him the okay to start.  

“Very well,” Chiron nodded, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Percy took a deep breath, focusing on a point just to the left of Chiron’s auditor table.  He began his monologue, and Annabeth soon recognized it as the scene where Richard seduces Anne Neville, in front of her father’s corpse, whom he killed.  It’s a creepy scene, no matter how you look at it.  But Percy plays the seduction perfectly, spinning the words together as sweet as honey to his invisible Lady Anne.  At the beginning of the scene, Anne hates Richard; she calls him a “toad” more than once.  But by the end of the scene, she has a change of heart.  Percy plays that change: fighting hard at the beginning to pacify her, and then slowly growing more confident and more obviously evil as he realizes he’s winning.  It’s amazing to watch.  Terrifying, too.  

When he’s done, Annabeth snaps with the rest of the class, but she’s pretty sure she’s the only one whose cheeks are bright red.

Percy smiles, and then takes a breath before he turns to his second focal point at the right of the auditor table.  His face completely changes, dark conflict etched onto his features, and his whole body seems to suddenly become heavier.  “Oh,” he intones, low and gravelly as he draws out the sound, “What a rogue and peasant slave am I.”

Annabeth’s entire being lights up.   _Oh my god,_ she thinks, _He’s perfect._

Percy fights through Hamlet’s conflicting thoughts as if they were his own, playing Hamlet as easily as if he were talking to a normal friend in the present day, and not to an imaginary audience in medieval Denmark.  He berates himself for his inaction, laughing darkly at his own inadequacy.  He verbally works through his problem, and a sick comprehension dawns on his face as he asks the audience a final question, “Am I a coward?”  He waits for a beat, waiting for an answer, before his face falls as he obviously answers it himself.  

You could have heard the air move, in that room.

Percy swallowed, the only moment of his entire audition where he looked even a little bit nervous, and turned back to face front.  “Thank you,” he said, and walked back to his seat.  

“What the fuck?” Travis Stoll shouted, “What the actual _fuck_ , Percy, that was great!”

Percy laughed, ducking his head, as everyone else around him erupted into loud, affirmative applause.  “Thanks guys,” he said quietly, and Annabeth could see a faint trace of pink at the tips of his ears.  He looked at her, “You wanna go next?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, and stood up to walk to the front of the room.

“Alright, Annabeth!” Someone called out, which was accompanied with several more whistles and catcalls.  “Show us what you got!”

She filled her lungs, expanding the top of her ribcage as far as she could, and exhaled slowly through her mouth.  She found the center of the space, and placed herself one step behind it.  This would draw the most attention to her, and give her room to move around.

Chiron nodded for her to start, and she smiled before her well-practised slate.  “Hello, my name is Annabeth Chase, and I will be playing the Nurse from _Romeo and Juliet_ , and Ophelia from _Hamlet_.”  She smiled a little at having to say the titles of the plays, since everyone in the room already knew pretty much all of Shakespeare’s plays by heart.  She waited for Chiron to give her the go ahead, and then found her first focal point.

She imagined she was talking to an embarrassed Juliet, and a just-barely tolerant Lady Capulet as she recounted the Nurse’s favorite story of Juliet as a toddler.  How when baby Juliet fell and hit her forehead, the Nurse’s husband had asked her if she would fall on her back when she grew older, and that Juliet had stopped crying, and said, “Ay!”

Annabeth flew through the story, enjoying the twists and turns of the Nurse’s rambling thoughts.  She laughed at her own joke, and she vaguely registered that her classmates were laughing with her.  Annabeth hardly ever did comedy; going against her type felt like it might be good for her.

Too quickly, the Nurse’s monologue ended.

Annabeth panicked.  She had to pick her second piece, like, _now_.  She wavered for an instant, eyes struggling to find a focal point before she knew who she was talking to.  The image of a woman shimmered to the forefront of her mind: a middle aged, blonde woman with gray eyes, in a floor length, silver gown.  Queen Gertrude.  Annabeth grabbed onto the image, and put the woman at the righthand corner of the white plastic table.  She had decided.

Annabeth let herself crack open in front of the woman, and her voice, soft and shaky, floated into the room as she sang.

_“How should I your true love know / From another one? / By his cockle hat and staff, / And his sandal shoon.”_

Annabeth laughed, before the queen interrupted her.  “Say you?” She demanded, speaking over the queen’s question, “Nay, pray you, mark.”  The image of her father, lying dead and cold in his too-early casket, flitted in front of Annabeth’s eyes and they filled with tears.

_“He is dead and gone, lady / He is dead and gone / At his head a grass-green turf, / At his heels a stone._

“O, ho!” She cut herself off, laughing again.  “Pray you, mark!”  The woman had tried interrupting her again, but Annabeth wasn’t done and she needed her to listen.  “They say the owl was a baker’s daughter.  Lord, we know what we are, but not what we may be.”  She paused, tilting her head to the side.  The woman was crying, now.  Annabeth wanted to comfort her, but something in her wanted the woman to be hurting, too.   _She should have protected me,_ she thought. _She should have known better._

“I hope all will be well,” she said, smiling through the tears that still rolled down her own cheeks, “We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep to think they would lay him i’ th’ cold ground. My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you for your good counsel.”  She turned, speaking to a servant she didn’t see, “Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies. Good night, good night.”  Her voice was barely a whisper now, but it still carried through the room with the haunted wavering of a ruined girl.

She blinked, and the woman in silver disappeared.  Her classmates came back into focus, and she realized they were cheering.  She smiled, baffled, and reached up to wipe the tears off her cheeks.  “Thank you,” she said to Chiron, and started to walk back to her seat.

“Hold on,” Chiron said, holding up a hand.  Annabeth froze.  He was looking at her with the same strange, focused intensity as he did the first day of class.  Every single nerve in Annabeth’s body was buzzing like crazy, and she vaguely registered that her left leg was shaking.

“Yes?” She asked, and then had to cough because her throat was so dry that her voice had caught.  Nice.  Not embarrassing at all.

Chiron folded his hands on top of the table, and leaned forward.  “Is that the piece you’re going to audition for the main stages with?”

She nodded, mutely.

A rare smile cracked his features.  “Good.  I expect to see that exact performance on October 29th.”  Annabeth nodded, and Chiron turned around to address the rest of the class.  “As I’m sure all of you have heard by now, there’s a rumor going around that we’ll be doing Hamlet next semester.”  A chorus of quiet affirmations and nodding heads followed his statement.  “Well,” he continued, “Those rumors are, in fact,” he paused for dramatic effect, and Annabeth internally cursed his entire family before he finally admitted, “True.”  He turned back to Annabeth, and winked.  “I’m directing.”

She almost passed out.


	3. Piper

The rest of the class erupted in cheers, most of them jumping out of their chairs to dance around.  Piper Mclean watched as Annabeth turned ghost white, nodded at Chiron, and dazedly walked back to her seat.  Her boyfriend gave her a high five.  

Piper politely clapped along with the class, thinking over Annabeth’s performance.  She was good.  Like, _good_ , good.  Piper had seen some girls play Ophelia as simply “crazy,” like a caricature of the character.  Annabeth had looked wild and insane, that’s for sure, but she didn’t look fake.  She looked _real_.  Achingly human, desperately needing to be heard.  And her voice… When Annabeth had just started singing, Piper’s entire body had gone cold.  Thinking over it now, leftover shivers still ran up and down her spine.  Annabeth’s voice had been small and shaky, but still as silver and clear as ice water.  It was like listening to liquid crystal.  Piper had had to wipe her own eyes a few times, watching Annabeth play like she was falling apart like that.  Something in her face had changed, before the end of the monologue.  Like she had realized for the first time that she was completely, utterly, alone.   _Damnit_ , Piper thought, blinking hard.  She was _not_ going to cry again.    She looked over to where Annabeth was laughing with Percy, messenger bag slung over her shoulder on her way out.  Blonde hair, lithe limbs, slender frame… She was gonna get that part.  And especially since Chiron – the _director_ – had seen what she could do with only _two weeks of preparation._

A twinge of bitterness seized her heart.

She let out a hard sigh, and pushed out of her chair.  Piper was a junior acting major, but she had yet to land any kind of substantial role.  She’d been spear carriers and understudies for the past two years.  Not that beggars can be choosers, and she’d loved the opportunities and experiences, but… She wanted a role.  A _real_ role.  Something she could sink her teeth into, you know?

She folded her chair up and brought it over to the corner of the room, where the other students had already stacked theirs.  She was the last one, and by the time she’d properly fitted her chair into the pile, most of the class had already filed out.  She crossed the studio’s light gray marley floor – perfect for dancing on – to retrieve her olive green, canvas-and-leather backpack.  She was two steps from the door before she heard Chiron call her name.

“Yes?” She asked as she turned, confusion and fear fighting for precedence in her ribcage.  Chiron was sitting on the other side of the studio, next to the door that led out into the office’s back hallway.  He finished tying up his athletic shoes, and motioned for Piper to come over.  He stood as she met him.  “What can I do you for?” she asked.  Her heart was thumping in her chest.  What did he want?  She didn’t think her mock audition had been _that_ bad, but Chiron’s marble statue of a face was impossible to read.

“Are you familiar with our Speak the Speech program?”  His burly arms were crossed over his chest, and he stood almost two heads taller than her.  Piper nodded.

“The one for high school students?” she asked, “Yeah.”  Every fall, the conservatory collaborated with their feeder school on a Shakespeare production.  College students directed and designed it, and they auditioned high school students for the actors and crew.  It could count as an independent study credit for the college students, and gave the high schoolers something to do.  It was marketed toward the less-privileged student body.  Piper liked the idea: getting problem kids off the streets through the power of theatre.  She’d never done it in high school (she wasn’t from around here), but there were a lot of majors here who had.  “Why?”

Chiron answered her with a question, “Have you considered applying to direct it?  Your work last year in Directing I and II was outstanding,” he told her, “I would love to see you head this year’s production.”

Piper was speechless.  “Uh – I, uh,” she stammered, “No?” She finally blurted.  Her face was on fire, and she rushed to go on, “Thank you, I mean?  But I don’t know if I’ll have time this semester, with auditions and everything.”   _And hopefully a lead_ , she thought, but didn’t say.

Chiron’s face fell, which was impressive, given that it hadn’t had any expression on it beforehand.  “I understand.  However, I am going to ask you to consider it further.  You’re a natural leader, and I think the experience would be good for you.”

“What?” She blinked.  “A leader?  I don’t think…,” she trailed off.  Piper had no idea what he was talking about: she felt like she’d been all but invisible these past two years here.  Like people didn’t even see her, let alone follow her.

“People listen to you,” Chiron said, “I can see it.”

Piper shook her head, and tried to laugh it off.  “Thanks, Chiron, really.”  She smiled up at him, “I’ll think about it.”

Chiron bowed his head slightly, his version of a beaming smile.  “Good,” he said, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

She nodded.  “See you on Monday,” she breathed, and turned to leave.

***

Piper walked out of the Acting Studio in a daze.  Chiron’s words kept repeating in her mind: _People listen to you.  I can see it._  What on earth had he meant?  Piper could usually charm strangers into giving her things – like when she used to bum joy rides off of car salesmen – but as soon as she had moved here, it felt like her talent had just dissolved: blended into the mix with everyone else.  She’d been the star in high school and at her own community theatre back home, but here… Everyone was talented.  Everyone had been their high school star.  It was hard not to compare herself to others (almost impossible, in fact), even though that was Number One on the How To Be A Miserable Artist List.  

Plus, there was always that nagging dread at the back of her head: that she wasn’t talented at all.  That the directors in high school had only said she was because of her dad, and his movie star status.  That even this very prestigious, very _selective_ college program had only accepted her because of the large donation checks they’d guessed he would write.  Which, of course, he had.  Tristan Mclean, actor extraordinaire, supported the arts at every opportunity he had.  Piper’s own love of theatre gave him an excellent route for giving back: every dance studio she’d been a part of, every summer program, her high school drama club, her community theatre.  Everything she’d wanted to join would soon get a generous donation from an anonymous donor.  He wanted her to have the best training and the best experiences with the arts.  Which was awesome, of course, and she was so, so grateful for his constant support.  But it still left her with that lingering, What if?  What if she’d only ever been cast because of who her father was?  What if she’d been accepted into the conservatory because of it?  Did she ever actually deserve the roles she’d been given?  Did she deserve _any_ of this?

“Ow!”

Piper’s self-pity bubble was burst with an explosive pain in her cranium.  Her hand flew to her forehead, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the stars swirling in her vision.  “What the hell?” She cried out, stumbling back a step as she tried to regain her senses.

“I’m sorry!”

Her eyes flew open.  Spots of color danced in front of them, but she managed to make out the shape of someone standing in front of her.  She blinked a few times.  The shape came into focus, and she saw blond hair, blue eyes, and tan skin underneath a purple t-shirt.  A groan built in her chest.   _Please, no._

“What the hell?” she asked again.  “What were you doing, just standing in front of the door?”  They were right in front of the theatre’s back entrance: a row of glass doors that led onto the arts buildings’ part of campus.  Piper’s muscle memory must have carried her down her usual route while she’d been lost inside her head.  She hadn’t even seen Jason.

“Uh, I –,”

“You know what?” Piper interrupted, throwing up a hand, “It’s fine.  I don’t care.”  She tried to push past Jason to open the door, but he didn’t move.  She stopped.  Looked up at him.  “Can I help you?”  She asked, not very kindly.

Jason looked taken aback, confusion and worry furrowed onto his features.  “I was just, um,” he swallowed, and gestured to the door, “I knew you usually come this way and I wanted–,”

“Excuse me?”  Piper couldn’t believe her ears.  He “knew she usually came this way?”  What was that supposed to mean?

Jason’s face flamed red.  “I mean – uh, I just wanted to tell you that your audition today was good.  Like, you do a perfect Rosalind.  Seriously.  Awesome.”  He ran a hand through his hair, and then shoved both hands into his pockets.  Piper considered him for a moment.  He looked nervous as hell, bouncing on his toes as he waited for her response.  Jason was a transfer student, having joined the junior class this year.  Piper had been practically speechless when she’d seen him in the Acting Studio the first day of Archetype Lab.  And it had been even worse when she’d learned he was now part of her graduating class.  She’d never expected to see him again in her life, let alone have him infiltrate her holy sanctum theatre program.

“Thanks,” she decided, voice flat.  She moved to get past him again, but he blocked her way.  Her hands curled into fists, as she raised an eyebrow at him in barely-tolerating question.  

“I was thinking, maybe…,” he took a deep breath and Piper’s stomach dropped, “Would you want to get coffee, or something?  We’d gotten along so well at the beginning of rehearsals this summer, and I thought–,”

“No,” Piper said, “I’m busy today.”  Which was not, necessarily, true.  But Jason didn’t need to know that.  In fact, Piper wanted to get the hell away from this boy as fast as she could.  The memory of this summer was not a pleasant one for her.  

“We don’t have to go today–,”

“I’m busy every day,” she said again, and finally pushed past him to open the door, “Thanks, though!”  She called over her shoulder as she practically ran away from him.  They had both been understudies in the community theatre’s production of _Taming of the Shrew_ that summer, him playing Petruchio and her Katharina.  They _had_ gotten along well at the beginning.  That is, until… Piper shook her head.  Now was not the time.

She pushed the image of the blond, blue-eyed boy out of her mind.  And if he called her name after her, well… She just kept marching forward.

And she _definitely_ did not think about turning back.  She _definitely_ did not think about what he’d said about her audition, even if her skin did flush pink at the compliment.  She _definitely_ did not think about their exchange all the way to her next class.  And once she got to class, she _definitely_ did not think about how shy and vulnerable he’d looked as he had asked her out, or how blue his eyes had been.  She _definitely_ did not think about it at all.

No, _definitely_ not.

So when she walked out of the gen ed’s lecture hall, and found her phone in her hand, it came as a complete surprise to hear Jason’s voice warily greeting her on the other line.

And she was positively astounded when she heard her own voice responding. “I changed my mind,” she heard herself say.

“Let’s get coffee.”


	4. Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was two weeks before closing night. Her and Jason (who had started as understudies, but had won the director over so much he turned them into a double cast), were goofing off backstage during intermission: talking, joking around, and “rehearsing” their upcoming stage fights – which was really just them laughing and being overdramatic as they exaggerated the movements. They were in the middle of a knee-to-the-groin move when Drew, the girl who played the Widow at the end of the show, interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it’s me again. I started this at 11 AM and now it’s 7:05 PM. Wtf. Anyway, let me know what you guys think!

_Turn around,_ Piper told herself, knuckles white as she gripped the wheel.   _You should turn around right now._  She reached down and turned up the volume dial on her console until her ears hurt.  Her thoughts were too loud.

“Not throwing away my shot…,” she mumbled along with the soundtrack.  Piper wasn’t a big musical theatre fan, but _Hamilton_ had changed the game.  It had gotten, like, sixteen Tony nominations.  The award show was tomorrow, and Piper had plans to watch it with a couple friends from the theatre department.  She was planning a game where they’d drink every time someone made a reference to _Hamilton_.  Piper might need to get smashed after today.

She pulled into the New Rome Cafe parking lot: a tiny, locally owned coffee shop fifteen minutes from campus.  It was the go-to coffee spot for most of the theatre students, for both java and jobs.  Plus, everything was fair trade, organic, and vegan.  Piper loved it.

But now, as she pulled into her usual parking spot, butterflies filled her abdomen.  She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and let her car idle.   _Just leave now,_ she told herself.   _Save yourself the trouble._  

Piper opened her eyes, and peeked into the front window.  She yelped, and ducked back down into her seat.  Jason was _right_ there, already waiting at a table.  He hadn’t seen her (she hoped), but the mistake had been made.  He was wearing that purple t-shirt, blonde hair glinting gold in the shop’s ambient lighting.  Piper groaned out loud, and buried her head in her hands.  He was so, so cute.

“God damn it,” she muttered into her hands.  

Her and Jason had built an awesome dynamic over the course of _Taming of the Shrew._  It had honestly been such a blast to run around the stage with him all summer, fake-slapping and fake-throwing each other around.  Piper had been working with him for about a month before she realized how hard she’d been falling.  She’d fought it, at first, being no stranger to heartbreak, but Jason hadn’t let her.  He’d had no idea, of course.  He had just been him.  But for Piper, that had been more than enough.  She had liked him so much it _hurt._  

She still did, in fact.  

That’s why she was here right now.  

“Pull yourself together, Piper,” she scolded herself.  “He isn’t worth it.”

She craned her neck to chance another peak into the cafe window.  Jason was looking at his watch, nimble fingers wrapped around a paper to-go cup.  Another cup was on the table across from him, in front of the empty chair.  He’d already gotten her something.  She let out a long, strangled sigh.  Who was she kidding?  Of _course_ he was worth it.

 _Fuck it_ , she thought, and switched off the engine.  She opened the car door, jumped out, and marched across the parking lot.

Jason’s head snapped up immediately as soon as she stepped inside the cafe.  He smiled, and stood up to greet her as Piper made her way through the maze of tables and chairs.  Jason looked so handsome it made a hollow ache start in the space behind her sternum.  When she reached him, he held out the second coffee cup.  She took it, and chanced a sip as they both sat down.

She hummed, pleasantly surprised.  “Chai?” she asked, and Jason nodded from across the table.  It might have just been Piper, but she could have sworn he was blushing.

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his head, “That’s your favorite, right?”

Now it was Piper’s turn to blush.  “Yeah,” she confessed, cheeks warm, “You remembered?”

Jason shrugged, fingers playing around the paper cup in front of him.  Sunlight streamed in from the window, bathing Jason in liquid gold.  Piper took another sip of her drink.  She could just see the tip of his collarbone, peeking out from beneath the fabric of his shirt.  She bit her lip; she _really_ wanted to touch.

“You used to drink it every day before rehearsal.  I took a leap of faith that you wouldn’t have suddenly started to hate it by now.”  Jason looked up at her from under his eyelashes, and smiled sheepishly.  Piper realized with a jolt that he wasn’t just talking about the venti chai latte in front of her.

“Oh,” she managed, “Um, yeah.”

Jason saw her change of energy, and immediately tried to compensate.  His expression softened, and he shifted in his seat.  “Look, Piper, about what happened–,”

“Jason, honey!”

Piper’s head whipped around to stare at the owner of the voice.  A girl about their age was strutting through the cafe toward them, a sickly sweet smiled plastered on her cosmetic-covered face.  She had black, pin straight hair that fell all the way down to her waist.  She wore tiny denim shorts, and a sequined halter top.  Piper felt her mouth go dry.

“Drew,” she said.  It came out as a statement, cold and hard, instead of a greeting.  Drew smiled anyway.

“Oh, hi, Piper!  I didn’t even see you there.  But don’t you look cute,” Drew cooed as she waltzed up to Jason’s chair.  Piper’s face blazed red hot.  She was wearing ripped-up denim shorts (that actually covered her ass, thank you), and a hoodie.  She felt like a hobo compared to Drew’s straight-out-of-a-Macy’s-ad look.  Piper usually didn’t give a shit about what she wore, but the way Drew had said “cute” set Piper on edge.  Like it was an insult.  Or a challenge.

“Can we help you?”  Piper asked, voice flat.  If Drew wanted a fight, she was more than happy to oblige.

“Oh, I don’t know about ‘we,’” Drew tsked, “I was just coming over to say hi to my sweetheart Jason, here.”  She laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Piper’s mind went blank.  

_It was two weeks before closing night.  Her and Jason (who had started as understudies, but had won the director over so much he turned them into a double cast), were goofing off backstage during intermission: talking, joking around, and “rehearsing” their upcoming stage fights – which was really just them laughing and being overdramatic as they exaggerated the movements.  They were in the middle of a knee-to-the-groin move when Drew, the girl who played the Widow at the end of the show, interrupted._

_“Piper, honey?” She asked, talking to Piper but batting her eyelashes at Jason (who had just been pretending to get hit in the crotch – not exactly a handsome position), “Stage manager wants you to check your props.”_

_“They’re already checked,” Piper said, crossing her arms.  She had disliked Drew since the moment they met._

_“Can you check them again?”  Drew spared Piper a scathing glance before flitting her eyes back to Jason._

_Piper looked back at Jason, feeling suddenly very territorial.  They hadn’t been officially going out, but they’d been flirting and dancing around each other for the past three months.  Drew had been attempting to attach herself to Jason for just as long.  Piper did_ not _want to leave her alone with him._

_“Okay,” Piper drew out the word.  She had no idea why the stage manager would want her to check her props again, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  If the SM asks you to do something, you do it.  She looked back at Jason.  “You good?”  He gave her a weak thumbs up._

_“I’ll be right back.”_

_Piper left the two alone together, far against her better judgment, and made her way to the props table.  Which, of course, was totally fine.  Not one prop out of place._

_Cursing Drew under her breath, Piper walked backstage again.  It had only been, what?  Three minutes?  She had left them in the stairwell off stage right, a secluded spot with minimal lighting.  It was somewhere you could go if you wanted to be alone.  Which was why her and Jason had been there in the first place._

_Piper pushed open the stairwell door and said, “All my props were there, Drew, I don’t know why–,”_

_“Oh!”_

_Piper stopped._

_Because in front of her was the most horrific scene she’d ever witnessed in her life: Jason, pinned up against the brick wall, Drew’s leg around his waist and her mouth on his neck._

_Immediately, Jason pushed Drew off of him, his face bright red.  Drew giggled, a hand fluttering to her cheek as she feigned surprise.  “Silly me.”_

_Piper stood frozen as Drew brushed past her, knocking her shoulder into Piper’s as she went.  She even called, “Break a leg!” over her shoulder._

_Piper didn’t move.  She just stared at Jason, who was equally frozen.  Ten whole seconds passed between them before either of them said anything.  Then, Jason lurched off the wall and back into motion.  He stepped toward her, one hand reaching out as if to touch her.  “Piper, I–,”_

_The rest of Jason’s explanation was lost, however, because Piper had slammed the door in his face._


	5. Two for Two

Piper snapped back to the present.  

The rest of that summer’s experience rushed back to her: Jason trying to explain later; Piper not speaking to Jason unless they were onstage.  Jason eventually getting the hint and leaving her alone.  Drew making it a point to relate the gory details of her and Jason’s latest bedroom exploits to Piper whenever she had the chance.  Taking her final bow on closing night and rushing out of the theatre as fast as she could.  Driving home with tears in her eyes as she vowed never to see Jason Grace again in her life.  Walking into her first class Monday morning to see him sitting in the Acting Studio.  Fighting not to gag when she first heard he had gotten into the acting program.  And now, sitting in a coffee shop watching Drew run her fingers through Jason’s hair.

Jason looked like he was about to vomit, which was kinda how Piper felt, but Piper figured his was a very different reason.  He was probably embarrassed to be seen with her, and by his fashionista girlfriend, to boot.  

“Okay,” Piper, said, and pushed out of her chair.  Her hands were splayed flat over the wood of the table.  “Obviously, I’m interrupting whatever _this_ -,” she motioned to the space between the two of them, “-is.  Thanks for the tea.  Sorry for the inconvenience.”  She said this to Jason, and then Drew, respectively.  She spit out the last word, and turned to leave.

“Oh, it’s no inconvenience,” Drew said after her, sweet as saccharine, and something in her voice made Piper pause.  She turned back, and Drew flashed Piper two rows of sparkling, perfect teeth.  But the way Drew’s eyes glinted dark and cold made Piper think this wasn’t a smile: it was a baring of fangs.  Drew turned back to Jason.  “I was just seeing what you wanted to say to little Piper, here.  Was it anything important?”

Piper’s hands curled into fists.  She had been ready to leave in (relative) peace a moment ago, but now there was _no_ way she was gonna let this valley girl get away with abusing her like this.  Piper had gone to a private, all-girls high school – she’d fought (and won) her fair share of catfights.

“First of all,” she started, eyes on Drew, “Don’t patronize me.  I’m not ‘little,’ so–,”

“No,” Drew purred, looking her up and down, “You are not.”

Piper stopped.  Oh, so _this_ was how she was going to play?   _Fine by me_ , Piper thought.

She was about to respond when Jason tried to stand up, hands out and palms up like he was making an, “I come in peace,” gesture.  “Okay, there’s no need for that–,”

“No, let her finish.” Piper stopped him cold, and he stayed, albeit uneasily, in his chair.  Piper turned back to Drew.  She crossed her arms, arching her eyebrows in a challenge.  “By all means, go on.”

Drew looked like she wanted to bolt, but now that Piper had dared her, she couldn’t leave.  But her moment of wavering ended, and Drew smirked.  “First of all, sweetie, since you asked, you are in desperate need of a makeover.  Like, a full body one.  You might want to sign up for _Extreme Makeover_.  I hear they’re looking for hopeless cases.”  She said all this with feigned innocence, smiling sweetly and twirling a lock of raven-black hair around her finger.  She even added in a goodnatured giggle for the dramatic effect.

Piper held her ground.  “At least I’m not so desperate for attention that I’ll wear band-aids for a bra and a see-through shirt while I physically assault my boyfriend in public.”  Piper mock-pouted.  “Daddy never came to your dance recitals, or something?”

Drew dropped the sweetheart act.  Her face melted into a dangerous, ice-cold mask.  “Look who’s talking, half-blood.  Where’s _your_ dad?  Drinking his life away at some casino?  No wonder your mom left–,”

“Drew!” Jason leapt up, face flaming red, “What is _wrong_ with you?!”  But before Drew could respond, a sharp _slap_ reverberated around the room.

Piper was so stunned, so _angry_ , that it took her a moment to register that her fingers were tingling.  With a jolt, she realized that she had just slapped Drew across the face.  She gaped at Piper, and held her hand over a cheek that was already blossoming red.  Piper swallowed, heart racing fast, but she managed to keep her expression calm and voice steady as she looked Drew in the eyes.  

“Fuck you.”

She turned on her heel to leave.  Jason called after her, but she didn’t stop to listen.  She knew that some small part of her was a tiny bit grateful, maybe, that he had tried to call Drew out for her.  But at the moment, Piper didn’t care.  She was far too angry, far too hurt, far too _humiliated_ to even think about hearing him out.  

She kept it together all the way until she got into her car.  She even made it to turning the key in the ignition before the first few tears fell.  It wasn’t until she choked out the bitter thought, _Two for two,_ before she really lost it.  And by that time, she had made it back to her apartment.  She had a single – thank the gods – so nobody asked her any questions when she burst through the door, full on crying, and went straight to her room to collapse onto her bed.  

For the second time in her short span of knowing Jason Grace, Piper Mclean had been utterly humiliated _in the exact same way_.  Piper buried her face in her pillow and sobbed.   _So why on earth couldn’t she get the thought of him out of her head?_

It just wasn’t _fair._

After what seemed like hours, Piper eventually cried herself out.  She took in a shaky breath, head still buried in her favorite pillow, and sat up in her bed.  She leaned into the headboard, letting her head fall back against the wood.  She held her pillow – the blue embroidered one her dad had let her take from Grandpa Tom’s house before she left for college – gently on her lap.  Now that she had calmed down a little, and had time to breathe, that small bud of gratitude blossomed in her chest.  She wiped her eyes, and let herself come to a slow, sinking realization: Drew or no Drew, Piper cared for Jason.  She wasn’t going to act on it, of course not, but she had to admit to herself that it was there.  She would give that blossom time, and eventually, it would wither away.  She could get over Jason Grace.  She _had_ to.  

And the next day, when she watched _Hamilton_ get eleven Tony’s in a row at her friends’ theatre party, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of lemonade in the other, she mentally reaffirmed her vow she’d made, for the second time in her life, to forget about Jason Grace.  And, for the second time, she absolutely knew she couldn’t.

 _Two for two_ , she thought again, and tipped the bottle back.


	6. Shopping Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you want a good audition, you need a good audition outfit. And good audition outfits come with a very specific set of rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I was exaggerating what this is like. But shopping for an audition outfit is a stressful, never-ending process. Annabeth is lucky she has Sally to go with her. Let me know what you think!

If you want a good audition, you need a good audition outfit.  And good audition outfits come with a very specific set of rules:

  1. You should always wear a solid color, since patterns are both unflattering and distracting.  
  2. You can’t wear jeans, or anything too casual.  
  3. No jackets, sweaters, or anything that covers up your shape; the “dress for your body type” rule does not mean “hide the parts you don’t like about yourself.”  Directors need to see what you look like.  
  4. Nothing risque, for obvious reasons.  
  5. Nothing flashy that draws attention away from you – you want them to look at your performance, not your designer heels.  
  6. You should be wearing your audition outfit in your headshot.
  7. You should have the same color to wear for the callback.
  8. And, most of all, you should feel good wearing it.



* * *

All these rules and more were buzzing around inside Annabeth’s head as she followed Sally Jackson around the racks of clothing inside a Forever 21.

“How about this one?”  

Sally held up a fuzzy purple sweater.  Annabeth wrinkled her nose.  “Too dark,” Sally agreed, and put it back.

Her and Percy had gone to Sally’s apartment for his little sister Juliet’s first birthday party.  After Paul, Percy's stepdad and classically trained Shakespearean actor, had found out the conservatory was doing _Hamlet_ , he had agreed to help them with their auditions.  Annabeth had been in the middle of her Ophelia monologue when he had held up a hand to stop her, saying that something was working against her: holding her back.  He finally diagnosed the problem in three simple words, "It's the dress."  

With instructions from Paul to “Find the girl some pants, damnit,” Sally had dragged Annabeth out the apartment door and into her car.  Percy had been forbidden to accompany them, which he had immediately objected to, but his baby-seal-eyed pout apparently didn’t work on Sally Jackson.

“You’re biased,” his mother had shut him down while she and Annabeth had been gathering their things at the door, “And you’re only going to make her nervous.”  And then Sally had kissed her son on the cheek, and whisked out the front door with Annabeth in tow.

Now, Annabeth was scurrying after her boyfriend’s mom while she grabbed hanger after hanger of potential options.  She had even recruited a poor sales girl, whose name tag said Lacy, to hold the quickly-growing pile of clothing as they walked around the store.  When Sally Jackson wanted something, Annabeth observed, she was a force of nature, and nothing could stop her.

“How about this?”  Sally held up a silver tank top.

“It’s cute,” Annabeth allowed.  “What would I wear it with?”

“We have a sale on all our tulle skirts,” the salesgirl offered.  She nodded to a rack of giant, sparkly tutus.  “I can grab one for you if you want.”

“No, thank you,” Sally said in alarm, and then one of the mannequins caught her eye.  She pointed at the chrome figure’s outfit.  “But we will be trying on a pair of those leggings.”

* * *

“Turn,” Sally commanded.  Annabeth twirled in front of the three-piece mirror at the back of the store’s changing room.  The white, sparkly tile floor, combined with the overhead fluorescent lighting, worked together to make her temples throb and send spots dancing in front of her eyes.  Sally frowned.  “Too much,” she decided.

Annabeth turned to look at her reflection.  She was slowly making her way through the mountain of clothing Sally had picked out.  Lacy had dumped everything on a cushioned stool outside her dressing room door.  Sally was perched on a matching stool next to it.  The mountain was level with her chin.

Right now, Annabeth had on a bright red shirt-dress that was belted at her waist, and fell in a billowy, high-low skirt all the way to her ankles.  Underneath she had put on a pair of black leggings with faux-leather panels up the front.  Her feet were bare.

“Which part?”  She asked.

“The color,” Sally answered, laughing.  “Try this one.”  She held out a chiffon, matte silver top.  Annabeth took it and went back into the tiny changing stall.  She was happy to get out of the red dress: it was too bright against her skin.  It made her look like she had a blushing problem.

She pulled on the silver top.  It was sleeveless, with a shallow scoop neckline.  The fabric flowed around her like silver water, putting her waistline at her hips.  It complemented her short, narrow torso and flat chest.  The black leather pants made her legs look longer and more toned, too.  The simple shirt and leggings showed off her lithe frame in soft, straight lines.  She walked out of the changing stall.

Sally let out a happy sigh.  “That color is perfect on you,” she said, “You look like a Greek goddess.”

Annabeth blushed profusely at that, and turned to look in the mirror.  The color _did_ match her eyes, almost exactly.  “I have some shoes that will go with this,” she remembered, “A pair of black lace-up boots.  They’re comfortable, and they won’t draw much attention.”

“Perfect,” Sally said, “And you _do_ look much more comfortable out of that skirt.”  Before Annabeth could respond, Lacy, who had been standing in the corner, piped up.

“Oh!” She squeaked, “I just thought of something that will go perfect with that!  I’ll be right back!” And then zipped out of the dressing rooms to fetch whatever it was she had remembered.

While they were waiting for Lacy to come back, Annabeth looked at herself in the mirror.  As she raked her gaze over her reflection, the nervous buzzing (that had been lurking in the pit of her stomach since the beginning of the semester) started to grow.  It kept growing until her whole body was practically vibrating with this strange, specific feeling of nerves.  She had only felt this way three times before: first, the day before she had started high school, which was when she had met Percy.  Second, her sophomore year of high school, right before she saw the cast list, with her name printed next to “Juliet.”  Third, and the most recent, had been the days leading up to her audition for the conservatory program she was in now.  It was the “Something’s Coming,” feeling.  Something good.

“Found it!”  Lacy called as she rushed back to Annabeth’s side.  She was holding a necklace still tagged from the jewelry section.  It was a small, silver owl pendant hanging on a matching chain.  “Here,” she said, and Annabeth ducked so Lacy could slip it over her head.  It hung just below her sternum.  The weight felt comfortable against her skin.

“And now the hair,” Sally said as she stood up.  She pulled Annabeth’s hair, which had been loose around her shoulders, back and up into a ponytail.  Annabeth felt a shock as she realized she was wearing the silver owl earrings her dad had given her for her birthday one year.  They matched the necklace almost exactly.  Both Sally and Lacy stepped back, beaming in triumph at their new creation.  

“Wow,” Annabeth said.

“Wow,” Sally agreed, at the same time that Lacy squealed, “You look great!”

“Thank you,” Annabeth said, and stood grinning in front of the mirror.  She adjusted her stance: unlocked knees, relaxed shoulders, long back of the neck.  She let out a deep, deep breath.  The buzzing had finally subsided, somewhat.  She felt comfortable, capable, and most importantly, castable.  She felt like herself.  She smiled; she could get used to this.

“We’re buying it,” Sally decided, and then pushed Annabeth back into the changing stall so they could check out.


	7. Jade's Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Cold reading day," Chiron announced, "Get the chairs out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I hope you like this one :) Please like or comment if you did! Thank you to @bananannabeth who helped me brain storm this whole au in the first place, and whose writing always inspires me. Enjoy!

“Cold reading day,” Chiron announced in Acting IV the next Tuesday morning.  “Get the chairs out.”

The entire class groaned, and Travis and Connor Stoll sadly folded back up the mat they’d been about to set on the floor.  Piper shuffled over with the rest of the class to get a plastic chair from the stack at the back of the room.  Chiron was both the Acting IV and Archetype lab professor.  Both classes had most of the same students, too, since the lab was only for juniors and seniors, and Acting IV was the juniors’ required acting course for the fall semester.  Piper had been excited to work with Chiron so much this semester; he didn’t teach any underclass courses, and all the upperclassmen who did have him raved about him.  But as he passed out stapled pages of the surprise script, she reconsidered her opinion.  She hated improv.

“Thanks,” she mumbled as Chiron handed her a stack of papers to pass down the row.  She slouched into the uncomfortable plastic folding chair, and scanned through the pages.   _Much Ado About Nothing_ was typed in the top left corner.  Hand-written “Start” and “Stop” lines bracketed out a scene between Beatrice and Benedick.  Piper flipped through, hastily taking in the language.  She recognized this scene: it was Act I, Scene i.  The first time Beatrice and Benedick are onstage together.  It’s a little ex-lover spat between the two wildly clever characters.  It wasn’t in verse: nothing that hard.  Piper let out a breath.  She could do this.

“You have ten minutes to look over the scene, so find somewhere comfortable, and then we’ll start playing with it.”  

Percy piped up from his seat next to Annabeth, “Do we get to–,”

“I’ll be picking the partners,” Chiron cut him off before he could even finish.  Another groan issued from the class as most of them scraped out of their seats to find somewhere around the room to settle in.  Piper stood up, stretched, and found a corner to curl up in.

She was just mouthing the last line, “You always end with a jade’s trick,” when Chiron clapped his hands.

“That’s ten!” he announced, “Everybody back to their seats.”

The class, scattered around the room in various sprawling positions, got up and made their way to the makeshift house they’d set up at the back of the room.  Piper was on her way back to her chair when a certain blond actor blocked her on the way to his.  She glared up at him, face flaring hot.  Jason stared wide-eyed down at her, lips parted in surprise.  Electricity sparked through her at how close they were – she could feel the warmth of his body heat from here – and her eyes started to sting.   _Damn it_ , she thought, and tried to tamp down the lightning flash as best she could.  She grit her teeth, and moved to the left in an effort to get past him.  Unfortunately, however, this was at the same time that Jason shuffled to his right.  Piper stopped, heart beating hard inside her chest.   _Is this a joke?_ she thought, and tried to move around him the other way, but he stepped in front of her again as he tried to get out of _her_ way.  She sent another glare back up at him, her jaw clenched tight.

“I’m sorry–,” he stuttered out at this stupid, awkward shuffle dance, but Piper just huffed and ducked past him, arms glued tight to her sides.  

She made sure to keep her eyes firmly locked onto the script in her lap, even though she could feel Jason’s stare from all the way across the room (she had set her chair as far away from his as possible).  He had tried to talk to her at the beginning of class, but Piper was getting good at the whole tuning out and silent treatment thing.  It kept her sane.

Chiron pulled up a chair to the left of the group.  He had the excerpt of the script in one hand and a pen in the other, a legal pad on his lap.  Piper saw him write the class time and date at the top of the paper.  He looked up expectantly.  “Volunteers?”

Percy and Annabeth raised their hands in synch.  Piper tried not to vomit.  She loved those two, she really did, but the last thing she wanted to see was an adorable, happy couple.

Chiron sighed.  “Very well, you two can read with each other first.”

Percy fist pumped, and went to high five his girlfriend.  Annabeth, however had already gotten up to move to the front of the room.  Piper bit her lip.  Well, maybe they weren’t _perfectly_ in synch.  The thought made her feel a little better.

Percy jogged up to the space, mouth open to say something, but Annabeth pointed to far stage right.  “Start there,” she commanded.  And then, as an afterthought, “Please.”

“Whatever you want, scene partner,” he said, grinning, and sauntered over to his mark.  

There was no shortage of snickers and “ooh”-ing from the audience.  Silena, a senior musical theatre performance major, muttered from her chair next to Piper something about “needing a freak like that.”  One of the Stoll brothers made a loud cracking-whip noise.  Annabeth was blushing profusely, script crinkling in her vise-tight grip, but Percy just grinned wider.  The two looked at each other, and Percy winked.

This just sent up another wave of groans, before Chiron cleared his throat.  “Please,” he said, pointedly, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Annabeth took a visibly deep breath, while Percy waited for her to give him the go-ahead.  She nodded at him, and they started the scene.

Percy, now as Benedick, looked offstage right like he was watching someone walk away.  “If Signior Leonato be her father,” he called after them, “She would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.”

Annabeth, who had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot in played-up impatience, trilled in a sing-song, “I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick: nobody marks you.”  She looked at him over her shoulder, and smiled sweetly  The class laughed and “ooh”-ed.  

Percy raised his eyebrows.  “What, my dear Lady Disdain!  Are you yet living?”  He sounded disappointed as he sauntered toward her.  There were a few more snickers from the class.

Annabeth sighed, and held her ground.  There was still a lot of open space between them.  “Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?” she asked, at a rapidfire pace, “Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if _you_ come in her presence.”

“Then is courtesy a turncoat,” Percy/Benedick fired back, laughing, which only seemed to infuriate Annabeth/Beatrice.  He shifted downstage and said airily, “But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.”  He stayed facing downstage, but it was obvious he was goading her, waiting for her response.  His last three words were a challenge, spoken like a throw-away, but a challenge nonetheless.

Annabeth scoffed.  “A dear happiness to women!”  She enthused, and the class laughed.  She took a few steps forward, following Percy downstage.  “They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”  She drawled out the word “loves” with a mocking sneer, obviously disgusted with the mere idea.  

Percy turned to her and winked as he took another step closer to her.  “God keep your ladyship still in that mind!  So some gentleman or other shall ‘scape a predestinate scratched face.”

Annabeth immediately retorted, “Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.”  She had taken another step toward him, too.

“Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher!” Percy observed, stepping toward her again.  The distance between them was swiftly closing as each took another step with their responses.  

“A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours,” Annabeth quipped, enunciating the B’s with obvious relish.  The air had started to get an intense, charged feel.  They were playing, yeah, teasing each other with insults, but there was something much larger underneath.

“I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer,” Percy said, now barely an inch away from Annabeth’s face.  They stared at each other for a moment, sizing the other up like they were both waiting for the other to do something.  What, Piper had no idea, but the suspense was _killing_ her.

Eventually, Percy broke the moment with a breathy laugh.  He stepped away, rubbing the back of his head.  “But keep your way,” he said, backing up, “I’ God’s name; I have done.”  He did a little salute, and then turned to make his exit.

Annabeth’s calm, witty facade melted off her face.  She made an abrupt move forward, and then caught herself.  “You always end with a jade’s trick!”  She called after him, but he was already out of earshot.  She fell back, deflated.  Still looking after him, she let out a quiet, “I know you of old.”  

And then turned to Chiron for approval.  The scene was over.

The class gave their appreciative snaps, with a couple whoops of encouragement thrown in.

“Very nice,” Chiron said in approval, “Thank you both very much.”  Annabeth and Percy said their own thanks, and went back to their seats.  Chiron turned to the class.  “What did you notice about their scene?”

“They’re ex-lovers,” Piper heard her own voice call out, and then felt her cheeks flush red.  She was very aware of the two blue eyes that were boring into the back of her head, but she resolutely kept her gaze on Chiron, who nodded.

“Yes, that’s usually the approach most directors take.  Percy and Annabeth handled it very well, for the little amount of preparation given them.  What were your objectives?”  He asked them.

“I wanted him to argue with me, and then keep arguing with me,” Annabeth said.

“Why?” Chiron asked.

“So he would stay,” she replied simply.  

Chiron nodded, satisfied.  He turned to Percy.  “And your objective?”

Percy nodded, looking at Annabeth.  “Pretty much the same thing.  I wanted to keep her talking, just so we _could_ talk.”  He grinned, “Even if it’s just us throwing insults back and forth, or maybe especially that.  I kinda wanted to get a rise out of her, to see how far she’d go.”  He rubbed the back of his head, in the same way he had onstage a few moments before.  “Benedick still cares about her, I think, and I wanted to see if she cared enough about _me_ to get angry.”

There was a collective hum around the room: a general murmuring of _Oh, we liked that._

Chiron nodded.  “Excellent insight, Mr. Jackson.  You both made some good choices.  Well done.  Next?”

Piper raised her hand.  This was a fun scene; she wanted to try it out.  Beatrice wasn’t really her type (she was more of a Hero, casting-wise), and she was always anxious to try new things.  Especially with such a fun character.  Beatrice was like Katharina: a strong, intelligent woman with some kickass text.  Chiron nodded at her, and she grinned.  She hopped to the front of the room, still smiling as she looked through the pages one more time.  She hadn’t even thought about what would come next, until she heard Chiron’s voice shatter her sparkly, happy-actor-bubble.

 

“Jason,” he said, and Piper’s heart stopped, “Why don’t you be her partner?”


	8. Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason walked up to the front of the room, and awkwardly took his place a few feet away from Piper, downstage left. They both stood there in silence. He swallowed. 
> 
> This was gonna be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Thanks to apoll-no.tumblr.com for reading this over. Let me know what you guys think :)

Jason stared at Chiron in horror.  Did this professor somehow _know_?  “Uh, um,” he managed to stutter out, “Sure.”  He mumbled the word, and pushed out of his seat.  He’d been staring at Piper since the start of class – mentally willing her to look over at him.  He didn’t know why, maybe he hoped he could communicate everything he wanted to say in one desperate, terror-stricken glance.

_I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say _, I miss you._

He tried to convey these sentiments with the Think Method (courtesy of _The Music Man_ ), but Piper stayed resolutely looking away from him.  He walked up to the front of the room, and awkwardly took his place a few feet away from her, downstage left.  They both stood there in silence.  He swallowed.  This was gonna be fun.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Chiron said, pen poised over his notepad.  Jason nodded, and looked at Piper for a cue.  She was glaring off into the distance.  Oh yeah, Jason thought.  Real fun.

With a deep sigh, he turned to stage left and addressed an imaginary Leonato and Hero: “If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is!”  Jason called to the imaginary, retreating group of friends.  He laughed to himself, hands in his pockets as took a few backward steps.

“I wonder,” Piper’s voice pierced the air in its severity, “That you will still be talking, Signior Benedick,” He turned over his shoulder to look at her, and when their eyes met she smiled, coldly.  She raised her eyebrows in mock sympathy, “Nobody marks you.”

There was a low  _Ooh_  throughout the class: that had been cold.  

Jason swallowed.  “What, my dear Lady Disdain!  Are you yet living?”  He, as Benedick, tried for a joke.  But his half-empty, breathy laugh died in his throat when Piper crossed her arms and gave her icy reply.

“Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?” She laughed: a single, high-pitched scoff, “Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence.”  She hadn’t even paused to breathe.  She enunciated every letter perfectly, but so quickly and so intensely that it was almost impossible for Jason to keep up.  

“Then is courtesy a turncoat,” he managed eventually.  He licked his lips, looking down at the floor.  He needed to recover, and fast.   _I want her to laugh,_ he thought, mentally rushing through his objective and possible tactics to get it, _I want to make her laugh, so that she’ll stay._  

“But,” he ventured, taking a step downstage and toward Piper.  He tried his first tactic: to charm.  “It is certain I am loved of all ladies,” he said with a winning smile.  Piper rolled her eyes and turned away.  Jason paused, and switched to a different tactic: to pacify, to amuse.

He shrugged, and shoved his hands into his pockets.  “Only _you_ excepted,” he allowed, and he fought not to smile when the class laughed.  He looked back over to Piper, and gave a big, melodramatic sigh.  “I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.”

She glanced at him, incredulous.  He tipped his head as if to say, _It’s true._  Another moment of silence passed between them.  And then Piper gasped, a big fake smile plastered on her face.

“A dear happiness to women!”  She crowed, and clapped her hands.  Jason felt heat rise to his face as Piper stalked toward him, each insult punctuated by another step.  “They would else have been _troubled_ ,” she spit the word like poison, “With a…,” she glanced down at the place below his belt.  She flicked her gaze back up to him, and smiled.  “ _Pernicious_ suitor.”  

The class erupted: snaps and _Oh, shit!’s_ filled the air.  Jason, cheeks burning, watched Piper just smile sweetly up at him, waiting for the noise to die down before she went on.

When she spoke again, it was an airy quip that she threw over her shoulder as she turned away and crossed back to center stage.  “I thank God and my cold blood,” she said, “I am of your humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.”  She said all this with a smile, hands on her hips as she faced downstage.

Jason stayed where he was.  “God keep your ladyship still in that mind!” He called, and she turned to him in question.  He explained, “So some gentleman or other shall ‘scape a predestinate scratched face.”

“Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were.”

“Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.”

“A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.”

All this was said in rapidfire succession, each of them throwing the jibes across the stage.  Jason finally broke the rhythm with a small laugh.  Benedick had lost: he wasn’t going to get his objective anytime soon.  Better leave now to save face.

“I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer.  But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.”  He turned to go, but Piper’s voice was so demanding that it froze him in place.

“You always end with a jade’s trick,” she stated, voice rough.  Jason turned again, just enough to see her over his shoulder.  She was still facing downstage, away from him, with her arms crossed in front of her.  Jason watched as she wavered for a moment, trembling in place, before she finally let out a defeated sigh.  She closed her eyes.

“I know _you_ of old.”


	9. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason was expecting the usual round of smattered claps, snaps, and catcalls. But that’s not what happened. Piper said her line, Jason made his exit, and the entire class went silent.
> 
> No claps. No snaps. No catcalls. 
> 
> Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @isle-of-the-blessed , @apoll-no , and, as always, @bananannabeth for listening to me ramble and reading over this chapter. Please like and comment! :)

Jason’s mouth fell open.  He felt himself leaning toward her.  He wanted to surge forward, to wrap her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was, how beautiful she was, how everything was going to be okay.  But he couldn’t.  They were in class, in front of people, doing a scene.  He clicked his mouth shut, turned, and walked away.

Jason was expecting the usual round of smattered claps, snaps, and catcalls.  But that’s not what happened.  Piper said her line, Jason made his exit, and the entire class went silent.

No claps.  No snaps.  No catcalls.  

Nothing.  

After a few more painfully still moments, Jason figured that he’d been standing in front of the silently gaping college students for long enough.  He started to go back to his seat, but Chiron held up a hand.

“Not so fast, you two,” he said, and Jason’s entire being filled with dread.  Chiron turned to the class.  “Was there something that any of you noticed?”  

“Piper dragged his ass halfway to hell!”  Someone called out.  Titters broke out around the room, and everyone started to breathe again.  The (horrible) silence had been broken, and the students shifted and rustled in their seats as the air started to move again.  Chiron’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, and Jason wanted to _die_ , but Chiron kept his stoic stature in place.

“And why did it come off that way, when Annabeth and Percy’s scene didn’t?”

There was quiet for a moment as the students thought.  It was Reyna who finally spoke up.

“Piper had more power than him,” she said, looking between the two of them.  “Jason was very…,” her dark eyebrows knit together as she searched for the word, “Submissive.  Apologetic, even.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth nodded along, “Whereas Piper was out for blood.  There was an obvious imbalance.”

“Until Piper gave up her power right at the end,” Silena noted.  “Like Jason had broken her heart or something.”

If the floor could open up and swallow him, Jason thought, that would be great.

“Interesting observation,” Chiron said, and then turned back to the front of the room.  “Piper, what was your objective?”

Piper didn’t answer.  She’d been eerily still during this conversation, and when Jason looked over she still hadn’t moved from how she’d ended the scene.  Arms crossed, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.  She looked small.  Jason wanted to punch himself in the face.

Chiron waited a few more seconds before he softly said, “Breathe.”

Piper’s entire body deflated.  She dragged both hands over her face as she took in a huge, audible breath.  “Sorry,” she muttered through her fingers.  

“No need to apologize,” Chiron said gently.  He told her to breathe again, and then, “Take a walk around the room.  Make yourself big again.”

Piper nodded, and took a few more deep breaths before dropping her hands.  She straightened up, and stretched her arms over her head.  She turned to walk in a slow, small circle around her side of the room.  She went through a few more stretches as she walked: opening her ribcage, twisting her spine, kicking her legs high up in front of her a few times like a Rockette.  Jason’s face warmed and he looked away.  He’d forgotten she used to be a dancer.  

But it was more than that that had made him turn away.  Piper’s face was blotchy, eyes bright with unshed tears.  Jason swallowed hard, and dug his hands into his pockets.  He really wished Chiron would let him sit down, now.

Or maybe just drop out of the class altogether.  That would be cool.

“I’m going to ask that you stay in the room,” Chiron addressed Piper, but to Jason it sounded like he was a freaking mind reader.  “Your energy will go with you, along with everybody else’s here.  And I need you to stay present with us right now.  We don’t need a Piper-shaped hole in the room while everyone worries about you.”  He smiled, and Piper gave a small, shaky laugh.

“I’m fine,” she said, sounding like anything but.

“Keep breathing,” Chiron reminded her.  She nodded, hands on her hips.  Chiron turned to the class.  “You’ve all been in classes with each other for more than two years, now.  I’m willing to bet you’ve all seen each other cry at least twice.”  There were some nods and murmurs of assent.  “And by now you all know that the work we do requires a Herculean amount of emotional effort.  And sometimes, you cry.  It doesn’t mean anything.  It doesn’t mean someone had a horrible childhood.  It doesn’t mean the scene partners hate each other–” Jason’s face flamed red at that.  He glanced at Piper, who was listening with watery eyes.  His gut twisted in guilt.  He just wished he could tell her the truth.  

Chiron went on, “It’s just your body reacting to the new, strenuous, and often frightening situations actors put ourselves in.  Like ball work, for example, or the column of light exercise.”  The class hummed in agreement, but Jason had no idea what either of those things were.

“And we talked about how your body’s reaction to being so out of its comfort zone was in no way reflective of someone’s actual emotional state.  It can be moving to allow yourself to take up so much space.  It’s also moving, and frightening, to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of another person.  Like in a cold reading, for example.”  He smiled at Piper, “How are you doing, my dear?”

Piper smiled back, and wiped her hands under her eyes.  “I’m good,” she said, more control in her voice.  “I just needed to breathe for a second.”

Chiron nodded.  “One of the reasons we’re doing this exercise is so that you can all learn how to be comfortable opening up onstage with a stranger.  You’re going to need to do that in auditions, for the casting director, and in callbacks with the other actors.  Even if you’re not totally comfortable with them.”  Chiron looked pointedly between the two of them.  “Do you think you can do the scene again, focusing on keeping the power even this time?”

Piper took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh.  She nodded.  “Yeah.”

Chiron looked over to Jason, who cleared his throat.  “Yes, sir,” Jason managed.  His heart was beating out sixteenth notes inside his chest.  And judging by the molten lava burning beneath his face, he was blushing pretty badly, too.  

“Alright,” Chiron said, “Focus on your objectives.  This is the first time Benedick and Beatrice are onstage together.  They have the same amount of power.  They are the Harlequin and the Soldier, like we talked about in Archetype Lab.”  Chiron smiled, then, eyes twinkling, “Like Katharina and Petruchio, for instance.”

Jason’s entire body turned to ice.  He looked over at Piper, who, for the first time all day, was looking back at him.  She was standing up straight now, no trace of the hunched-over version of herself from their scene’s first time around.  He chanced a smile at her – just a small one – and she arched her eyebrows back, but she didn’t turn away.  His smile grew, and there was a flicker of an answer on her lips, before she rolled her eyes and looked away.  She moved upstage a little, and crossed her arms.  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Jason took his place opposite of her, like they had so many times that summer.  He looked over at her again, fighting not to grin.  He hoped she remembered.  Piper wasn’t looking at him anymore, but judging by the color in her cheeks, and that cute, familiar way she tugged at the little braids in her hair, she did.  

He had just turned and taken a breath to deliver his first line when Chiron interrupted them.  Jason turned to see Chiron’s stone face showing the slightest bit of humor as he smiled.

“Oh, and Piper?” Chiron had called with that amused (albeit rather frightening) twinkle in his eyes again.

“Go easy on him this time.”


End file.
